


All Things Devour

by authors_bane



Category: Lord of the Rings - Fandom, The Hobbit
Genre: An Unexpected Journey, Desolation of Smaug, F/M, No one dies because that’s dumb, the battle of the five armies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-24 12:11:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13213500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authors_bane/pseuds/authors_bane
Summary: She left to make jewelry for the likes of Men.He stayed to help his uncle.They reunite on a journey to the Misty Mountains, through goblins and wargs and spiders and orcs, to claim a gold Long abandoned, and a friendship long forgotten.Oh how time changes."This thing all things devour,Birds, beasts, trees flowersGnaws iron, bites steelGrinds hard stones to meal;Slay kings, ruins town,And beats high mountain down."





	All Things Devour

__Chapter I:

Callagareth stared at the green door. It was freshly painted, she could smell it, but there was carving near the bottom; a dwarvish “G”. She breathed deeply, shifting her shield on her back and moving her belt, her maxes jangling at her hips. She reached up to scratch her sideburns, only to remember that she had shaved them off years ago without giving them the chance to grow back. She sighed heavily, unsure of why she was so nervous. 

“Me? Nervous? Pah!” She thought to herself as her hands shook and sweat condensed against her neck. “A dwarf is never nervous.” 

Yet when she raised her fist to knock on the freshly painted green door with the dwarvish “G” carved into the bottom, she found herself near unable to. 

“Get over yourself!” She snapped under her breath. “You know these dwarves. They were your friends.” 

Once, a long time ago... 

Callagareth shook her head, her long black hair falling down her shoulders like a thick, lion’s mane. Lionmane...the name her grandfather’s father had been given long ago for his head of bushy, blonde hair. Lionmane...a name she would not disgrace. She raised her fist again and pounded firmly on the door. 

“No! Nobody’s home!” Cried a voice from the inside. 

_Must be the burglar._

She stood taller, her shoulders back, her chest out, and her chin up, just like her mother taught her. The green door was thrown open by a Hobbit, only a few inches shorter than herself, but he looked greatly displeased. 

“Callagareth, at your-“ 

“I will have no more dwarves in my house!” The Hobbit said angrily. Callagareth scowled. 

“How many are here?” 

“Four!” 

“Only four?” 

“ _Only_...How many were you expecting?” 

“Well, surely more than that.” 

“Who’s it at the door?” A gruff voice asked from inside the Hobbit hole. Out from around a bend came her old friend, Dwalin. 

“Calla!” He yelled, opening his arms. Callagareth grinned, pushing past the Hobbit as he spluttered angrily. 

“Dwalin!” She replies with as much joy. She marched through the hall and embraced him like no time had passed since their last meeting. 

“You shaved your sideburns!” He exclaimed, touching her face. Calla heard the door slam shut. She rubbed her prickling face. 

“The Men of Gondor are not very fond of women with beards,” she joked, though her heart skipped in her chest. 

“Who is it?” Balin, Dwalin’s white haired older brother asked. 

“Only your favorite dwarf!” Calla grinned. Balin reached for her with a tight hug. 

“It’s been too long, Calla,” he said, hands on her shoulders and bitter sweetness in his eyes. Calla smiled at him, patting his hand. 

“I know.” She smelled something cooking and her stomach rumbled. “Where’s the food?” 

“This way!” Dwalin said as the doorbell rang again. Dwalin lead her to the pantry, laughing as he went. 

“Kili! Fili! Look who’s arrived!” Dwalin announced as they approached the pantry. Calla froze at the door, seeing her two old friends. 

“Calla!” Kili exclaimed, dropping a round of cheese. He rushed forward, pushing past his brother, and pulled his old friend into a hug. Calla’s heart was stopped in her chest. 

“You knew they’d be here,” she told herself. “You knew this was going to happen.” 

She forced a smile on her face as Kili pulled away from her. 

“Where have you been, Calla?” He asked her with a grin. 

“Gondor,” she replied shortly, trying to hide her shaking voice. 

“Such a long way away, whatever for?” He asked. 

_I was running_ , she said in her head. 

“I needed money for my sisters,” she said aloud. 

“No more dwarves!” The Hobbit yelled from the other room. Kili and Dwalin left to meet the new arrivals, leaving Fili and Calla alone in the pantry. 

“It’s been a long time, Calla,” Fili finally said. She dipped her head. Gritting her teeth, Calla stepped forward and offered out her hand. Fili grabbed her forearm and they shook. Calla met his eyes but only for a moment before the rest of their party came sweeping in. She might have said something if they hadn’t. 

And the night wore on. The Hobbit, their burglar, went by the name of Bilbo Baggins, and he was the grumpiest sort. He ate not a thing while the dwarves feasted. He simply sat and glowered. Yet, for Calla, it was like returning home. She sang and danced and ate with her fellow dwarves as if the years that had passed never happened, as if they had all come here together from Moria. 

And when they had finished, they began to clean, for they weren’t as uncivilized as their eating habits may have implied. They knew how to be kindly houseguests. Mother had always told her that the best way to clean was with a song. And that’s just what they did. 

_Blunt the knives, bend the forks_

_Smash the bottles a burn the corks_

_Chip the glasses and crack the plates_

_That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates!_

They sang and cleaned and when all was said and done, Bilbo was still glowering, but he looked almost half impressed. The wizard who has called them all there, Gandalf the Grey, stood smiling. Calla was still laughing when the doorbell rang again. 

The dwarves looked back and forth at each other. 

"He's here," Gandalf said, the smile gone from his face. The happy and unbeat mood that had previously filled the room dissipated instantly. 

"Who...who's here?" Bilbo asked, but no one replied. Gandalf opened the wood door and revealed the final member of their party, their leader, Thorin Oakenshield. His was another face that Calla hadn't seen in ages. He was taller than most dwarves Calla knew, and his hair was dark like hers. His eyes were like vast oceans, full of emotion but void of emotion all at the same time. He never liked her much, at least, she never thought he did. She was a commoner who spent too much time with his nephews. However, she still smiled when she saw him, they all did. Except Bilbo. 

"Gandalf, I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice. I wouldn't have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door," Thorin told them. Gandalf chuckled. 

"Mark? There's no mark. The door was painted a week ago." Bilbo was scowling. Gandalf slowly closed the door and stood in front of the handle. Calla could have sworn his face was pinkish. 

"There is a mark," Gandalf told their burglar. "I put it there myself. Bilbo, let me introduce you to the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield."

Thorin stepped past Gandalf and towards Bilbo. Calla held her breath. She almost felt sorry for the Hobbit. Standing toe to toe with Thorin wasn't the most comfortable place to be, as she had learned from experience.

"So, this is the Hobbit." Calla scowled at Thorin's tone of voice. She watched Bilbo straighten himself and the slouch back over, as if attempting to match Thorin's kingly posture, then deciding against it. "Tell me, Mr. Baggins, have you done much fighting?" 

You only need look around the Hobbit hole Bilbo lived in to know the answer to that question. It was a very solid 'No'. 

"Pardon me?" Bilbo asked, his eyebrows furrowing together. 

"Ax or sword, what is your weapon of choice?" Thorin stared Bilbo down, hands on his belt. 

"Well, I do have some skill with Conkers," was Bilbo's reply and the dwarves stifled laughs. "If you must know. But I don't see how that's relevant."

"Thought as much," Thorin scoffed, looking Bilbo up and down. "He looks more like a grocer than a burglar." Thorin turned away from Bilbo as he spoke and the dwarves all laughed, including Calla.

Dori brought Thorin a pile of rolls and a bowl of soup as they all gathered around Bilbo's small table once again. 

"What news from the meeting at Ered Luin?" Balin asked, hope laying beneath the concern in his eyes. "Did they all come?"

Thorin sighed. 

"Aye, from all seven kingdoms." A murmur carried through the company. Bilbo stood in his lobby, looking on, but not participating.

What did the dwarves of the Iron Hills say?" Dwalin asked excitedly. "Is Dain with us?" It was a question all of them were wondering, it was the news they were waiting for. They all leaned in to hear the answer. Thorin put down his spoon and swallowed. 

"They will not come." Gasps of outrage spread among them and Gandalf sighed. "They say this quest is ours and ours alone."

"You're going on a quest?" Bilbo asked, suddenly interested. He leaned into the group, eyes wide and arms crossed. Calla rolled her eyes. Why else would they be here in his home if they weren't going on a quest?

"Bilbo, my dear fellow," Gandalf said with a sigh. "Let us have a little more light."

Bilbo nodded curtly and, as he turned away to find another candle, Gandalf pulled a map from his coat pocket and laid it on the table. They all leaned in even further to see it. Bilbo put down another candle beside the map. "Far to the east, over ranges and rivers, woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak."

Calla's heart leaped in her chest. That was the home of her father and mother before the dragon. That was the place she was going to reclaim for them.

"The Lonely Mountain?" Bilbo asked, reading off the map.

"Aye!" Gloin said from across the table. All eyes turned to him. "Oin has read the portents and the portents say it's time!" Most of the company groaned. They had heard Gloin and Oin say this time and time again, but Calla nodded her head. Her youngest sister watched the stars. Her sister had seen the same signs. 

"Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain as it was foretold: when the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end," Oin snapped, his horn in his ear. Bilbo lifted his head.

"What beast?" He asked. Calla lowered her head in her hands, not desiring to be the one to tell him of the dragon. 

"Well, that would be reference to Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. Airborne fire-breather, teeth like razors, claws like meathooks. Extremely fond of precious metals," Fili told him, far more cheerfully than anyone else in the company would have. Calla only barely managed to keep a smile off her face.

"Yes," Bilbo replied rather shortly. "I know what a dragon is."

"The task to win back the mountain would be difficult enough without an army behind us. But we number only thirteen, and not thirteen of the best," said Balin, hands folded politely as protests broke out among them.

"What do you mean, 'not the best'," Calla asked, but her voice was swallowed by the others. "We're the best you will ever get!"

"We may be few in number," Gloin retorted, speaking angrily to the table, "But we're fighters, to every last dwarf."

"Aye!" Calla agreed, her fist pounding once on the table.

"And you forget," Kili piped up, a smile on his face. "We have a wizard in our company. Gandalf must have killed hundreds of dragons in his time." All heads turned to the wizard, who looked as if he was a mouse backed into a corner.

"Well, no, I wouldn't say I-" he tried to protest.

"How many then?" Fili asked, the same excited look in his eyes.

"What?"

"How many dragons _have_ you killed?" Gandalf started to cough on his pipe, obviously embarrassed. The dwarves began to groan and bicker among themselves about how many dragons Gandalf had killed. 

" _Shazara!_ ," Thorin yelled, standing to his feet. "If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too? Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look east to the mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back as others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?" The dwarves around him cheered, pumping their fists in the air and stamping their feet. Calla grinned, having forgotten how well Thorin was with speaking and inspiring. Balin stood as well, turning his attention to the dwarves and they all turned their attention to him.

"You forget, the front gate is sealed! There is no way into the mountain." His voice sounded sad and distraught, but Gandalf was smiling.

"That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true." And either by real magic or slight of hand, Gandalf revealed a key, a dwarvish key. Calla leaned closer to the wizard to get a better look. Had her eyes not been glued to the key, she might have seen the wonder in the eyes of every dwarf at the table, and the singular Hobbit that stood near.

"How came you by this?" Thorin asked, his eyes looking only to the key.

"It was given to me by your father, by Thrain, for safe keeping. It is yours now," Gandalf replied, hiding a smile beneath the white hairs of his mustache. Everyone watched carefully as Gandalf transferred the key to Thorin.

"If there's a key, there must be a door," said Fili, still watching the key. Calla nodded. That or a chest, but a chest wouldn't be much use in this situation.

Gandalf reached down to the map, pointing at the runes on the side of the page. Calla leaned closer to read them, but there was no way she could see over Bifur's ax.

"These runes speak of a hidden passage to the lower halls," Gandalf told them.

"There's another way in!" Calla and Kili said at the same time, with a similar level of excitement. Gandalf huffed and nodded.

“Well, if we can find it, but dwarf doors are invisible when closed. The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map and I do not have the skill to find it. But there are others in Middle Earth who can. The task have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage. But, if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done,” Gandalf told them.

"That's why we need a burglar," Oin grumped to the group. Bilbo crossed his arms and twitched his nose.

"Hm, a good one, too. An expert, I'd imagine," he said, not noticing that all eyes had turned to him.

"And are you?" Gloin asked.

"Am I what?"

"He said he's an expert!" Oin exclaimed happily. "Hey, hey!" The table rippled with laughter.

"I think you need to get your horn checked, Oin," Calla told him and he looked at her like she was crazy. She tried to hide her smile.

Bilbo attempted to protest the fact that he was a Burglar and many dwarves agreed with him, saying that he looked to gentle to be a burglar. He nodded along with them and Calla wondered if he kenw they were insulting him, but she just laughed along with them.

"Enough!" A booming voice carried over the sound of the dwarves bickering to each other. Calla jumped and turned towards Gandalf as he rose, a black shadow creeping over the wall behind him. "If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is!" The shadow began to fade as Gandalf sat back down. The room went quiet. The only sound heard was Calla nervously tapping her mace by her side and Ori drumming his fingers under the table. ] “Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unseen by most if they choose. And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of dwarf, the scent of hobbit is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage. You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company, and I have chosen Mr. Baggins. There’s a lot more to him than appearances suggest, and he’s got a great deal more to offer than any of you know, including himself. You must trust me on this."

"Very well," said Thorin, his voice tight. "We will do it your way."

Bilbo tried to protest again, but Thorin overruled him by telling Balin to give him the contract. The dwavres waited as patiently as a dwarf could wait as Bilbo read, quietly muttering as he went. Calla tried not to laugh once again as Bilbo stumbling over the word 'Incineration'. Bofur stood to comfort him in whatever way Bofur could manage, Calla looked up from the table, only to catch Fili's eye. For the briefest of moments, they smiled at each other, the remnants of laughter still on their faces. Calla turned her head away quickly, not able to hear what Bofur was saying due to the sudden ringing that occurred, but pretending she could anyway.

It was stupid of her to come here on this quest. She knew this would happen. She should have stayed in Gondor, where she had a stable job, where she could provide for her family, where she didn't have to think about all the things she did before she left. But here she was, sitting at a table full of old friends, trying to push away old memories, about to travel on an uncertain mission to battle an ancient dragon with fire like the sun. Who was she kidding?

She just almost missed Bilbo fainting before she came back to her senses.

The Company rose slowly, picking their chairs up and placing them on the table. They spread about the house as Bilbo slowly rose and left to talk to Gandalf.

"Calla!" Young Ori said, walking up to her as she stood at a window. Calla grinned at her friend.

"Hello, Ori. I'm pleased to see you once again," she told him as he smiled at her. She offered her hand to shake, but he put his arms around her instead. Calla pounded her fist against his back and he did the same to her.

"It's been such a long time, Calla," Nori said as he approached with Dori.

"We've all missed you," Dori told her, handing her a cup of tea he seemed to have poured earlier that no one had drunk. Calla forced herself to smile at them. She didn't like the way being around them again made her feel. It was comfortable and happy, but bitter and sad. She didn't understand it. They all sat in the chairs laying around.

"Some of us have missed you more than most," Dori whispered, looking behind her. Calla tried to resist turning her head, but she did anyway to see that Dori was looking towards Kili and Fili. She whipped her head back around towards her tea.

"I've missed you all, as well," she said quickly, bringing the cold tea to her lips. She never liked the taste of tea, but it was a good substitute for alcohol when she was upset. Even cold, it scalded her throat on the way to her stomach.

"Why did you leave?" Ori asked. Dori put a hand on his arm and shook his head.

"It's alright, Dori," Calla told him. She looked over to the fireplace that set off a warm glow. "I left because...because there was nothing left for me at Moria. After my mother and father passed, I needed a way to provide for my sisters and my brothers. They were too young to live on their own then. Gondor was far enough away to help me forget my parents and help us all rebuild a new life." It was only half the truth. There was more that no one knew, no one but two.

"All that matters is you're back now," Nori said with a slight smile. "And we are all grateful for it."

Pipes emerged from pockets as the dwavres gathered in the living room around the fire. They sat on chairs and tables and old boxes, all their minds were on the Mountain, the one place they were trying to get to, and the only place they couldn't reach. A humming began among them, a song rising in their bellies. It was a melancholy song. A bittersweet lament. It was power and fire and death. It was the song of the Misty Mountain.

_Far over the Misty Mountains cold_

_To dungeons deep and caverns old,_

_We must away, ere break of day,_

_To find our long forgotten gold_

_The Pines were roaring in the height_

_The winds were moaning in the night_

_The fire was red, it flaming spread_

_The trees like torches blazed with light_

Their song floated about the Hobbit Hole, filling every crack with tears and feeding the flame in the fireplace with their anger. Sparks flitted into the night sky from the chimney, carrying the tune in the wind and throughout the Shire. The small living room of Bag End was suddenly a thousand times bigger, the size of a throne room, the size of a mountain. Blacksmiths wore robes of silk, warriors carried weapons of sharp iron, jewelers worked with the finest gems, and a king wore his crown. Calla couldn't help the tears that gathered in her eyes. She had never seen the halls of Erebor like few of the Company had, but her father and mother would tell her great stories of it. They told her of the halls carved from the mountain, of rivers that flowed of pure gold, of miles upon miles of gems and stones and rocks to be mined. All the stories merged together now, at the sound of those longing for their home back, and she found not the strength to will those tears away. 

She would reclaim her parents' home. She would restore the crown to the King. She would make right all that had been made wrong.

Or she would die trying.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Have a wonderful day!


End file.
